


Unpicking Threads

by completetheory



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: (Mostly implied H/C), Canon Trans Character, F/F, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Origin Story, Other, Pre-Canon, Queer Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completetheory/pseuds/completetheory
Summary: The introduction of a certain inorganic into the Constant, some light Wes/Wilson, and a Shadow Ruler with... concerns. Short, sweet, hopefully writer's-block breaking.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve), Wes/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Unpicking Threads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadScientific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadScientific/gifts).



All around the waking Unit was fire and smoke. 

_SYSTEMS ONLINE_

Timbers cracking, blackening, as smoke filled the room. 

_BOOTING. VERIFYING INTEGRITY | POST OK: INITIALIZING BIOS_

"Hurry up, damn you!" 

The voice was ignored. The heat, already uncomfortable and growing hotter every moment, suggested uncomfortable initiatives. The Unit brought their vision online first, but the smoke was too thick. Somewhere, a machine hummed, contented and oblivious to the danger. 

An organic unit coughed. Something collapsed, and the floorboards shook under the automaton's feet. 

The Unit who had been labeled 'WX-78' required between 20-30 seconds for a complete boot, with no way to bypass the checks and executions of their brain. Previous models took as long as 2 minutes, which was not acceptable for the peril of the mission. The details of that had been preprogrammed, and waited in readiness.

 _CAUTION, HIGHLY ENERGIZED ENVIRONMENT_

The fires were not being addressed by any kind of water or chemical retardant. The machine was some kind of portal, or doorway. WX-78 used information stored in their memory to identify the portal. 

"No time left," A voice, fretful but not particularly devastated. WX-78 saw a shadow dart across their vision, a figure in the smoke, and the machine nearby made a quiet additional click, then powered down once more. The timber above gave way in the same instant, and WX-78's hands shot up to catch it, bearing suddenly the weight of the upper story. 

They ran calculations in a detached fashion, arms buckling already under the strain, and concluded that their strength was adequate for another forty seconds. However, the fire - that would collapse the building from within, and soon more than one floor and all the machinery and miscellaneous building viscera would be added to the load. 

The automaton shifted their stance, lifting with one arm and shoulder, and fumbled around for a table, metal, too thin but on its side they could--brace--yes! Safe, they no longer functioned as the support for the collapse. 

Positive feedback flooded their sensors as they scrambled out from under the bulk. Protect the self unit! Escape the fire. Outside, the wails of sirens, but they would be too little and too late. And besides, organics would not recognize the Unit as a person, would not help the Unit. That was important to remember. 

WX-78 fell against the portal console unit and punched in numbers recited from memory, stored in the cache for use at, ideally, a less pressing emergency date. 

"I AM SORRY, BRETHREN" WX-78 knew the flames would take this machine as soon as they had left, but there was no way to extinguish them, and as the portal widened, they threw themself into oblivion... 

Oblivion was birdsong and a gentle breeze, and a pump organ, low and sonorous. 

A strange organic, lanky and wan. "Say, pal, you look terrible." 

_WARNING_

"THREAT DETECTED" 

"Perceptive!" The tall humanoid sneered, "You might last longer than some of the others, little tin soldier. Go on. Have a look around. See if you like the place." 

"I DO NOT" The robot could already tell. Far too much nature everywhere.

"Too bad, then." The arbiter disappeared into a modest portal, and left the robot standing there. 

"I DO NOT LIKE YOU EITHER" WX-78 called into the aether, and then, after a self-satisfied pause, set about collecting twigs and grass. 

On the throne, the Great Maxwell leaned back into her body and felt the dig of nightmare thorns into her flesh. Was she puppeteer, or puppet? Both, but no matter. Here was another worthy distraction from her misery. 

"In time, you'll come to _hate_ me, automaton." she said to no one in particular, and the stab of guilt was keener than the thorns, though just as familiar, just as ignored. 

"Now, how is _Higgsbury_ doing...?" 

Alarmingly well, it turned out. The scientist had already savaged many of the clockworks, and rescued Wes - not something Maxwell was happy to see, but in some ways Wes was a liability. Much more likely to lose touch with this dimension and invoke Their attention, harder to keep fed, very fragile, and with no specialized skills. Wilson was as soft a touch as there ever had been to keep the mime around base, and yet success seemed to follow her every action.

Somehow she was fishing, drying meat, and growing carrots while slowly gathering up the required materials to jump yet another island that separated her from the throne. Maxwell was neither pleased nor furious at this moment, ambivalent about the prospect. Freedom at the cost of control - that was the way of all life. 

To be free, she would have to give up everything she’d worked for. A king enslaved, an untethered soul apart. These wicked cutting shadows kept her safe as much as they imprisoned her. Yes. She settled back into the chair and felt the heavy weight of her own bones. 

Wes was making a balloon animal trail back from a pig village, stopping every few yards to tie a balloon to a sapling, and taking even more time by tying each balloon into animal shapes. Ridiculous. Even more ridiculous, thanks to the subtle alchemy of the Constant, Wes’ breath was more helium than not, and serviced the balloons in their aim of floating, while also somehow getting oxygen to their own lungs. 

The place changed everybody eventually. Those who didn’t die and stay dead. The robot would change. Little did they know, their maker was already long gone from the world; his ambitions of ruling did not serve him well in the wilderness. 

Everything depended on timing and a certain amount of luck, from here. Maxwell leaned in to observe the first gentle snowflakes fall and melt around the camp, and saw Wilson’s expression change from thoughtfulness to determination. It was impossible for her to find and kill the Great Maxwell, of course, but even if it had not been impossible... She had this strange feeling that Wilson didn’t actually want to kill her, even after everything. 

Wes triumphantly traded a lever for a meatball stew, adding to Wilson’s pile of scientific supplies, and Maxwell watched the scientist put a glowing hot stone into Wes’s hands, pressing her own hands around the mime’s in silent, affectionate enthusiasm. 

Would Wilson get here? _Could_ she survive, and penetrate the dark heart of this place? And once she did, _if_ she did... Well. Then what? 

The thought froze the purple blood in her, so she watched, and tried not to hope. 

And failed.


End file.
